


Entanglements

by WandersUnderStarlight



Series: Not Just a Spark [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Creepy Prowl, Dark Prowl, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 22:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10500939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandersUnderStarlight/pseuds/WandersUnderStarlight
Summary: Something wasn’t right. It was the same feeling he got right before a hitch in a mission.





	

**Author's Note:**

> What is it with this muse coming out of nowhere and biting me?

Jazz was ashamed to admit that it took several cycles for him to place Prime’s new tactician. The vague familiarity the other had inspired in his processor had bothered him from the first moment he set optics on the black and white Praxian. Then he remembered the mission in Praxus, and his paranoid red flags went up. 

A quiet look at the mech’s service record showed nothing extraordinary except for the speed at which he’d climbed the ranks. But that was backed up by his acts in the field and apparently advanced tactical computer.

Jazz spent the next few cycles being unseen around the base and just keeping an optic out for any suspicious behaviour, but the mech seemed perfectly normal. Efficient too. With this new guy, Prowl, they actually seemed to be turning the war around.  
He wondered why the mech that, as he recalled, had been a pampered lordling, had decided to enter the war. Prowl was difficult to get a read on. The mech tended to keep his EM field close to his plating. Not that that was uncommon. Jazz, himself, kept his EMF nearly dampened, though because of his Spec Ops mods he projected a secondary friendly and open EMF.

Tripwire, one of the Spec Ops working at the base Prowl had previously been stationed, had given him the rundown of the mech. “He’s quiet. Didn’t really get close to anyone while he was here. Exacting, but good at his job. Only thing he requested was a one-on-one meeting with each Ops bot. A little particular, but most of us are too.” 

Sure enough, the request for those meetings came across his desk the first cycle Prowl had arrived. As the head of the Ops division, Jazz’s one-on-one meeting with the mech was first. 

Jazz hit the notification chime on Prowl’s office door. For now he’d be polite and announce his presence, after he’d sussed out the mech’s personality, he’d barge in the same way he did to Optimus. The door opened to admit him, and he strolled in with an easy smile.

“‘Ello Sir, ‘m Jazz, head of Spec Ops.”

The mech’s doorwings flared out and swept lightly forward. Something flashed in the icy blue optics of the mech behind the desk. Too quick for Jazz to really process. It had almost looked like triumph and… hunger? No that couldn’t be right. Still, something shifted in the air. Something that made Jazz edgy.

“I am Prowl,” he said evenly, “new head of the Tactical Division, but I expect you already knew that.”

Jazz grinned despite the disquiet in his processor and draped himself in the visitor’s chair. “I’d heard the base gossip.” He said coyly.

“I wasn’t aware that personnel files were part of the base gossip.” Prowl responded dryly, but with no recrimination.

So he was used to working with Ops bots. That was something of a relief.

From there they discussed the best way for their departments to work together. It was… pleasant, Jazz supposed, for a work meeting anyway. Though the entire time, there was a small part of him still on guard. Something wasn’t right. It was the same feeling he got right before a hitch in a mission. He trusted that feeling, he just didn’t know where it was coming from.

He couldn’t just made an excuse to leave either. ‘Excuse me, Sir, but I need to boogie out early because I’m getting the heebie-jeebies,’ wasn’t going to cut it.

After a plating-crawling joor, they were done.

“I’ll jus’ send my mechs t’ ya for their meetin’s in the next coupl’a cycles.” Jazz said getting up and heading for the door.

“That won’t be necessary… Solstice.”

The moment he spoke the wrong name, a chill swept through Jazz’s lines. He turned his helm to look over his shoulder carefully.

“Wha’ did ya say, mech?”

Prowl smiled. “It is you, from Praxus. I finally found you.”

“I don’ know what yar talkin’ abou’.” Jazz said nonchalantly. 

“Lie.” The Praxian said confidently. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“This conversation is over.” Jazz said, his internal alarm bells all ringing now. He hit the button for the door and walked out, but not before catching the small smirk that came across Prowl’s dermas.

 

There was nothing like sudden paranoia to make a bot high-strung. If his Ops mechs noticed him being slightly more spazzy than usual, they wisely made no comment. Jazz didn’t bother Optimus with it either. The Boss Bot had enough on his already overflowing plate and Jazz’s reservations about his new tactician would not help. Besides, Prowl was actually helping them turn the tide.

He’d shut himself in his office and given Prowl’s records a deeper look. There was nothing to raise suspicion. Squeaky-clean. The only thing noted was his propensity to be a ruthlessly cold glitch to assure a mission’s success. While that may have not made him popular, it wasn’t a true cause for concern. 

And he’d yet to do anything besides bring up the classified mission. How the frag had he known it was him, anyways? He’d said he’d “finally” found Jazz. How long had he been looking? How had he known to look in the Autobots? _And how the frag had he known it was him?!_

Thus ran Jazz’s overclocked processors for a good three cycles. It made him twitchy, and a twitchy Ops bot was a danger to everyone around them. To burn off his excess energy, Jazz locked down a training room for a good two joors and dismantled about twelve practice drones. Feeling tired, if not less jittery, Jazz made it back to his office only to freeze in the doorway when he spotted a box on his desk. 

He automatically scanned it and the room to ascertain whether anything was off. After all the scans came back negative he carefully approached the box. Next to it was a datapad. That got thoroughly scanned next. 

Nothing.

With a frown Jazz onlined the pad.

_My dear Jazz,_  
I fear my relief at locating you may have caused me to make you uncomfortable after our meeting. It was not my intention to antagonize you. Please accept these as both a token of good-will and an expression of my interest.  
Prowl 

Curious, despite his better instincts, Jazz set the pad down and opened the box. Nestled in two rows of four were delicate energon treats that Jazz hadn’t seen since the beginning of the war. Foster gel eggs. Named for their inventor, they were comprised of a thin, crispy silver shell with a gelled low-grade center. They were Jazz’s absolute favorites.

Where the frag had Prowl gotten his servos on these?

Jazz glanced at the message on the pad again.

Wait a klik… his _interest_? What the frag did that mean?

The visored mech grabbed the box and marched over to Prowl’s office a hint of murder bleeding out from his suppressed EMF.

“Wha’ th’ frag is _this_?” He snarled the moment the door opened. Prowl was alone in his office. Jazz had kind of hoped there would be somebot in there as a witness.

Prowl looked up at him mildly. “Please come in, Jazz.”

He stepped in just far enough for the door to close.

“Well?” He demanded impatiently holding the box forward.

Prowl’s doorwings canted towards him. “I would have thought the note I sent with them would have been explanation enough.”

Jazz shook his helm in disbelief. “Ya can’t be seriously suggestin’ a relationship righ’ now. We’re in th’ middle of a fraggin’ war!”

“A paltry war is not going to stop me from courting you.”

“ _Wha’_? _Paltry_ \- Wha’ th’ _frag_ , mech. There’re bots tha’ go out an’ deactivate every cycle b’cause o’ this “paltry war”. Don’ ya care about tha’?” Jazz yelled.

“I care enough to make sure the Autobots prevail because you have chosen their side. But I care not for them.” Prowl said standing and making his way around the desk.

DANGER!! All of Jazz’s Spec Ops training was screaming at him.

“B’cause Ah’ve _‘chosen their side’_?” He parroted aghast.

“Of course. I’m here because of you. I will court you and then we will bond. This war is superfluous.”

Oh, Jazz was more than done with this crazy!

He kept the mech in his sight as he pinged the door to open. He was denied. Optics flashing pale behind his visor he tried to remote hack the door and found a strong firewall in his way. He tore into it as Prowl approached. He ruthlessly tramped down both the urge to back up against the door and strike out at the clearly deranged doorwinged mech.

Must not attack another officer. Not yet.

“Your accent comes more pronounced when you’re emotional. It’s quite alluring.” Prowl commented casually walking right into Jazz’s personal space. He didn’t seem to be expecting an answer, so Jazz stayed silent. He continued, delicately plucking a treat out of the box that Jazz held in his frozen servos. “You should try one, I’m sure I got the recipe correct.” He reached for Jazz’s face and the visored mech lost the fight against instinct, jerking back to hit the door with a muffled clank. That just made Prowl smile and he stepped forward to close the distance. He ran his thumb over Jazz’s bottom derma, attempting to coax it open.

The visored mech pressed his dermas together stubbornly.

“Now don’t be difficult, Jazz.” Prowl said with patient amusement. “The Autobots are unlikely win this war without our skills. Consent to my courtship or I will remove us both from this conflict.”

Jazz’s vents stuttered. He could feel through the Praxian’s stiflingly close EMF just how deadly serious he was. Prowl thumbed his dermas again.

“All you have to do is accept my gift.”

The frag was he supposed to do? He was cornered in a ranking officer’s office by said insane officer who was threatening to what? Kill him? Kidnap him away from the Autobots? Unless he agreed to courtship and bonding? His training had not prepared him for dealing with something like this. If it were done by a Decepticon? Yes, he’d have a plan and executed it already. But from a supposed ally? His processor spun.

Stall. He had to stall.

The need to escape was nearly overwhelming. Jazz mentally clawed at the weakening firewall even as he forced his jaw to relax allowing Prowl to open his mouth far enough to run his digit over Jazz’s lower denta. Prowl’s EMF radiated triumph, sensor panels fanning out to frame his helm making him appear bigger. He slid the treat into the visored mech’s mouth.

The confection was as Jazz remembered. Sweet, tangy gel flooded his mouth with a light crunch from the shell. But it turned to ash on his glossa as Prowl watched him eat it with possessive optics.

“I look forward to our life together.” Prowl murmured.

_No!_

The firewall collapsed.

_Out. Out. OutoutoutoutoutOUTOUT._

Jazz was through the remote security, out the physical doorway and down the hall before his processor caught up with his frame.

He dodged the base cameras on his way to his quarters and then locked down his room with every legal and illegal security measure he had. It was then he realized that he still held Prowl’s gift in his servo, dropping it as if it had started eating through his plating. All of his sensors were on high alert. It felt like live electricity was streaking through his lines. The taste of silver lingered in his mouth.

He stood trembling in the middle of his room, fuel pump pounding, staring at the spilled box of treats and feeling as if he’d just made a deal with the Unmaker himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp, I think I managed to creep myself out. Pardon me while I go read some nice fluffy stories to clean out my brain...


End file.
